A Change of Plans
by Sherlockfan12
Summary: John's Christmas Eve looks to be very dull until his girlfriend manages to get off work early. But when Sherlock attempts to surprise John with his own plans, John is forced to choose between spending the holiday with his girlfriend or Sherlock; a choice with turns out to be life-changing. - fluffy romance, touching, Johnlock slash


**Author's Note:** I'm not dead, although I seem to have been eaten by a time vortex for the last half a year. I can't believe it's been this long since I've actually written something. I'd intended to have this done by Christmas, but alas it wasn't to be. In any case, enjoy :) and for those who have been waiting for continuations of the Love and Friendship story, take heart that I haven't actually forgotten about it!

_-Obligatory Disclaimer - _  
_These characters belong to the BBC show writers Moffat and Gatiss. This is just fanfiction, no profits made, blah blah blah. And my apologies for any fangirlish butcherings which have no doubt occurred herein._

* * *

**A Change of Plans**

John sighed and leaned back from his computer, his stomach rumbling. He'd been catching up on his blog all afternoon, having nothing better to do since Lestrade hadn't even had any petty cases for them all week and Sherlock had vetoed the idea of planning a Christmas party (before he'd even mentioned it) when John had brought home a small tree a few days ago. Writing about murders hardly seemed fitting for the holiday season, though, and John didn't enjoy feeling like a scrooge sitting home thinking about death on Christmas Eve. He scowled at the screen a moment and decided he ought to make a Christmas post that didn't have anything to do with one of their cases. His stomach rumbled again. _ But perhaps after a break_ he thought.

John turned to face the door, but didn't actually get out of his chair. Sherlock had taken over the kitchen almost as soon as he'd gotten up that morning, experimenting with god-knows-what, and John had barely been allowed in to grab some leftover chinese takeaway out of the fridge for his lunch. Any of John's own ambitions to get into the holiday spirit today by baking Christmas cookies had died with the knowledge that he'd first have to scour the entire kitchen after Sherlock was done with it before he dared to make anything that was meant to be eaten. Perhaps they'd just order something in for dinner, if anywhere was actually delivering on Christmas Eve.

Harry had invited him to her place of course, but there was no way he was going over there just to watch her drink herself to oblivion, and his latest girlfriend had to work; hospitals didn't have the luxury of closing for the holiday after all. John rubbed the back of his neck which was stiff from leaning over his laptop.

Just as he was reaching for his phone to see about ordering dinner he received a text from Beth. Apparently everything was so quiet and well in hand at the hospital they'd offered to let a few people off early. She wanted to surprise her best friend by showing up at her party, after having to turn down her invitation originally, and hoped John hadn't made any other plans.

_What luck!_ John texted back asking for details and then started looking for something a little nicer to wear. It seemed to be taking her a while to reply, so in the mean-time John decided to take a quick shower before getting dressed. Once he was all ready he checked his phone again and cringed at her suggestion of meeting at his place before heading over to the party. She'd been there once before but Sherlock had mercifully been out at that time and John had since been trying to put off introducing them as long as possible. It had been quite a while since his last relationship and he was determined to make this one last more than a couple of weeks. He texted back quickly, hoping she hadn't already set out, telling her to wait there instead and he'd meet her at the hospital in a few minutes.

John hummed cheerfully to himself as he hurried downstairs and pulled on his coat, not even glancing at Sherlock and his mess; _he_ could fend for himself tonight, if he even bothered to stop for dinner.

"John!" Sherlock cried sharply, rushing over and trying to pull his coat back off him. "What are you doing?"

John shrugged off Sherlock's grasp and rummaged in his coat-pockets searching for his left glove.

"Beth got the night off, I'm going…"

"But you said you didn't have plans." Sherlock cut him off. "Who's Beth?"

"Well I have now, and you haven't met her." John said irritably, "She had to work but…" having finally discovered he was holding both gloves in his right hand, John glanced up at Sherlock and stopped cold.

Sherlock was wearing a deep red shirt and nice black trousers. There was no sign of goggles or latex gloves or mysterious substances splattered on his front. His hair even looked like it had been combed. John's stomach sank into the floor. He glanced warily past Sherlock at the kitchen. It was clean now. His glance continued to slide over the living room. The desk had been cleared and set for dinner, complete with table cloth, their best dishes, and, John swallowed awkwardly, _candles_.

"John, I…" Sherlock's voice dropped into a mumble and he turned away. "Fine." He muttered bitterly.

"_You_ made me dinner." The observation tumbled out of John's mouth before his mind had quite managed to grasp it.

"It doesn't matter." Sherlock stated quickly, bitterness still tinging his voice.

John stared at the whole scene completely stunned. He felt sick. Surely Sherlock didn't actually mean it as a _date_, even if he was for once making an effort to show his appreciation for John. _That_ was such a rarity John didn't know how he could refuse, but Sherlock hadn't actually said anything to him about making plans together, and now he'd already promised Beth he'd go with her. It was a no-win situation and he really didn't want to have to deal with this, not on Christmas Eve when everything was supposed to be peace and good cheer. Why of all times did Sherlock have to pick _now?_ Why couldn't Beth have just been conveniently busy at work? _Why did it always have to be so difficult to maintain his relationship with Sherlock and a girlfriend at the same time?_

_We're not a couple! _ He mentally snapped at all the people who had tried to suggest that explanation.

John's mind nagged that time was ticking and Beth was waiting for him, or that she might even turn up at the door any minute and misinterpret what would look to her like a romantic dinner for two, which would be a disaster whether she assumed it was meant for her, or meant for him and Sherlock. John needed to get out of there, _now_. Surely the man who claimed not to have feelings could manage a little disappointment… John turned and grasped the door-knob. _Claimed._ That was the key word. The pit in John's stomach dropped another ten feet. Sherlock obviously did have feelings, quite a lot of them by the looks of it. John glanced back at Sherlock who stalked over to the sofa and sat down hard with his hands clenched in his hair, clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check.

_But what am I supposed to do!? _He couldn't call back and cancel on his girlfriend just for a night in with his flatm… his best fr… his… his… _he's not my boyfriend!_ sounded adamantly in John's mind out of habit. Sherlock had never tried to be anything more to him. He'd clearly said he wasn't interested at the very start. Sherlock wasn't romantic, he wasn't sentimental… he wasn't… couldn't possibly be…

He wasn't what John was looking for. He wasn't what John thought he should want, or what he wanted to want. But Sherlock did mean a great deal to John and he suddenly felt a tidal wave of guilt. He'd known Sherlock far longer than Beth, was in fact closer to him than he was to her, and Sherlock had put so much effort into trying to make John's night special, not to mention how difficult John knew it was for Sherlock to communicate sentiment, _how_ could John be so cruel as to disregard all of that in favor of his new crush. She would still have the company of her best friend tonight if John didn't come, but Sherlock…

_Do I really __**have**__ to go?_ John realized he'd always taken for granted his sense of social obligation based on titles like 'girlfriend' vs. 'flatmate,' but he didn't actually _have_ to be bound by that, did he? If his own priorities differed, why did he always give in to what he thought 'people' expected of him instead?

Suddenly John found himself standing at a crossroads in his life. He could continue his endless search for 'the right woman,' like he somehow felt he was supposed to, at the expense of his closest relationship, or he could start honoring his true priorities even if that meant forgoing romantic interests that conflicted with them. Beth was really nice, and he liked her, but he couldn't honestly say she was more important to him than Sherlock. He wasn't sure if the day would come when someone else _would_ be more important, and that thought unsettled him, but he now realized he'd been causing himself a lot of unnecessary stress by trying to force his priorities into the wrong order. And he hadn't even been successful, judging by the number of women who had left him due to jealousy of Sherlock. John still wasn't about to accept the suggestion that he was gay, but perhaps it was time he did accept just how important Sherlock was in his life.

John pulled out his phone and stared at it for several minutes in indecision. Before he'd really committed himself to it, his fingers began typing his apologies to Beth on their own. When he read through the message again he seemed to not only be turning down tonight's plans, but implying that any future plans with him were unlikely. He wasn't intending to break up with her, but perhaps his subconscious was telling him something here. He stared at the completed message for another minute before he made himself just press send. Then, although he knew she might consider it rude, he switched off his phone because he owed Sherlock his attention tonight. With that simple act he felt as though a huge burden had just been lifted from his shoulders, one he hadn't even known was there. He was free, free to just be with his best friend tonight. Only now did he realize how much he'd actually wanted that all along. He'd been feeling disappointed earlier because he expected Sherlock to simply ignore him all night, not because he'd actually wanted to go out with anyone else. He had secretly hoped Sherlock would at least spend this holiday with him, even if Sherlock wasn't really into it himself.

John looked back up at Sherlock who was watching him sullenly out of the corner of his eye.

John cleared his throat awkwardly, "Sorry, I didn't know you were, um…" he took his coat off again and hung it up, "I've told her I'm not… er…" he trailed off. Sherlock had sat up and was staring at him with a light in his eye that John interpreted as 'overjoyed' in spite of Sherlock's attempt to appear impassive. John felt a smile starting to swell in the depths of his own heart. _This_ felt right.

Sherlock jumped up and dashed over to his computer which began to emit quiet Christmas music after a moment. When he turned back to John and motioned for him to come sit down, one of his genuine smiles escaped his control. John didn't think he'd ever seen anything as joyful.

Shaking his head in disbelief at just how happy he was beginning to feel himself, John sat down across from Sherlock who immediately began serving him. There was everything that a good Christmas Dinner ought to have, and none of it looked burned. Sherlock was obviously proud of his accomplishment, and John was duly impressed. He found it amusing to watch Sherlock trying not to watch him anxiously as he tried each dish. Sherlock rarely bothered to cook anything for himself, but apparently he was just as good at following recipes as he was with chemical formulas.

"I, I had no idea…" John nodded at all the food to indicate what he meant though words were failing him. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that _Sherlock_ had spent all day _cooking_ a meal just for him. "I didn't think you wanted to do anything for Christmas." John had been pretty disappointed that Sherlock had refused to host a party again this year.

"Once you invite one person, everyone else has a way of showing up, and after last year…, well I thought perhaps it would be better not to invite anyone." Sherlock explained.

He had a point there, John remembered that horrible moment with Molly all too well. …And the one with Jeannette, and Sherlock's disillusioning of Lestrade and…. yes he definitely had a point. John had still enjoyed having everyone together though.

"Anyway, I didn't want to raise your expectations in case this didn't work…" Sherlock trailed off awkwardly.

"Well, it's wonderful. Thank you." John suddenly felt himself blushing, more touched by Sherlock wanting to surprise him than he was willing to admit. "I had been hoping you'd play a few Christmas carols though." That had been a highlight of last year's party for him.

Sherlock looked a little surprised, "I suppose I could oblige. Though Mrs. H. will come up if she hears it."

"Well, that wouldn't be bad, would it? There's certainly enough food to share."

Sherlock stared at him oddly for a moment, and John thought he looked a little sad though he couldn't imagine why.

Neither of them seemed able to think of anything else to say after that, though they were so used to each-other's company that silence wasn't actually all that awkward. John was pleased to see Sherlock was actually enjoying the meal _with_ him rather than watching him eat as was often the case. Sherlock not obsessed with a case _and_ not bored and fidgety was a rare and wonderful thing. _If only we could just relax together more often,_ John found himself wishing.

As they ate, they both kept glancing at each-other till eventually their eyes settled on each-other at the same time and they shared a comfortable smile. They really didn't need to say anything aloud, their eyes said it all: _Thanks for always being there. I'm glad I ended up stuck with you. You really are amazing. You're not so bad yourself. We really do make a good team don't we…_

After dinner, Sherlock went and got his violin and John moved over to his armchair by the fire where he could lean back comfortably to watch Sherlock and let his food settle. John liked watching him play almost as much as he liked listening to him. The way Sherlock moved with the music as he played was captivating, as though he and the violin were one with the sounds. John felt silly for the way he was always saying words like 'brilliant' and 'amazing' around Sherlock, but he still couldn't stop himself thinking it for the millionth time. That reminded John that he had a present for Sherlock. It wasn't much, but he hadn't been able to think of anything Sherlock would want or need, even though he'd really wanted to be able to give him _something_. Finally he'd found a small magnifying glass that looked almost like a pocket watch in its round metal sheath which it swiveled in and out of with a satisfying click. He'd had it engraved with a simple SH, knowing Sherlock wouldn't want anything with a sentimental message, though now John was beginning to wonder if he actually might have.

John's brow creased a he glanced over at the little Christmas tree. It had only had three things under it previously, his gift and two tins of homemade sweets Mrs. Hudson had brought up for them yesterday, but now there was a small pile of gifts.

Sherlock stopped playing as John got up and went over to search for his little box. All the new gifts seemed to have John's name on the tags.

"Sherlock?" John looked up at him in bewilderment.

"Oh, um… right, those are, ….thoseareforyou." Sherlock hovered behind John, seeming torn between wanting to snatch them all away and wanting John to stop staring stupidly and open them already. John's small package seemed even more inadequate now, and he mumbled an apology as he handed it up to Sherlock.

Sherlock brushed off the apology, "No, I don't need anything more…" _than you,_ his gaze seemed to imply, and John felt himself growing a bit warm. He glanced away as Sherlock sat down on the floor with him, waiting expectantly for him to begin unwrapping his gifts. John didn't know why he suddenly felt so unworthy of all this, considering how often Sherlock demanded ridiculous favors of him. Perhaps he just wasn't used to anyone, especially not Sherlock,_doting_ on him, which was exactly how this felt. It seemed Sherlock had saved up all the positive sentiments he never communicated and was now trying to express them all in one day. John slowly forced himself to open the presents, one after another, feeling increasingly overwhelmed.

Sherlock had put his detective skills to good use. John found the book Mike had suggested to him a month ago, an album with a song he'd jotted down the name of after hearing it on the radio, some of his favourite coffee, two duplicate pairs of the socks he wore most often, and the coat he'd been inspecting one day with thoughts of replacing his current one which was getting a bit threadbare.

"Sherlock..?" he found himself asking again, wondering what had prompted this bout of generosity, it had to be more than simply Christmas Spirit. Of course John knew Sherlock must value him more than he ever let on, but Sherlock's lack of communication always left nagging doubts in John's mind as to how much Sherlock really cared. John had been certain he would always care more than Sherlock would ever return, but now John was getting the feeling that any imbalance in their regard for each-other was actually the other way around.

Sherlock simply shrugged as John shook his head in wonderment. _And to think I was about to brush him off and leave him here alone. _John winced inside.

Sherlock broke off his gaze, which was growing a bit awkward, to inspect the gift in his lap which he'd been waiting to open. John nervously watched Sherlock's long fingers turn the package over, slip under the tape, prise open the gift-tin it came in, pass over the engraving and smooth surface of the brushed metal case, and then flip out the little glass and hold it up to the light. Sherlock glanced at John with a glint of approval in his eye and John smiled, relieved that he'd chosen well, even if it was just a trinket. Sherlock clicked the glass back into the case and put it straight into his pocket so John knew he intended to always carry it with him.

They continued to look at each-other with content, though slightly awkward, smiles. Sherlock looked as though he was trying to decide if there was anything he wanted to say or not; John was doing the same himself.

"Time for dessert?" John thought to suggest after a moment. Sherlock gratefully seized on the suggestion and stood up to go serve up a plate for each of them. John stared at his back a moment, then his glance fell to the tree again and the lights twinkling through the branches. After a moment he noticed one more tiny package, hidden further back behind the tree. Curiosity got the better of him and he reached for it, even though he wasn't sure he wanted to. It almost seemed as though it had been intentionally hidden back there. Sure enough, it also had his name on it, and the size and shape was disturbingly recognizable.

John glanced up at Sherlock again with what probably looked like terror. Sherlock was just turning round when he, too, stopped dead at the sight of the little box in John's hand. _It's too late now,_ hung thick in the air between them.

With his awkwardness levels now completely off the charts, John reluctantly began to peel off the tape. As he unfolded the wrapping paper he noticed the inside was scrawled with Sherlock's handwriting. The little box momentarily forgotten, John flattened the paper and stared at it for a long time. The words were a combination of Sherlock's awkward directness mixed with somewhat old-fashioned, overly formal phrasing which John supposed was Sherlock's attempt at being poetic while simultaneously fighting the use of 'flowery' expressions.

Dear John,

I did not at the time we met believe myself capable of harboring those sentiments which I have hitherto found distasteful. However, over the course of our acquaintance I have come to greatly value your companionship, and must now admit that I am deeply honored to have you for my friend; that word hardly seems adequate to describe the loyalty and self-sacrifice you have shown me. I am certain that no one will ever come to mean more to me than you; you are irreplaceable, and indeed _necessary_ to me. I know I cannot ask you to remain here indefinitely, knowing your disposition towards the idea of being a couple, and I would never expect anything more from you than you already give. But know that my home will always be your home regardless of where else you may eventually choose to go. In the event of my death I intend to leave everything to you; though you are not technically my next of kin you are most worthy of that status. As the man to whom I owe much more than simply my life, I will always be at your service should you need or desire anything of me. I realize I am very poor at communicating this sort of thing. Since I will undoubtedly continue to neglect doing so, please accept this as a symbol of my esteem and loyalty. I could not think of anything more fitting for this purpose, though I do not expect you to actually wear it, nor wish you to feel obligated to return the same level of devotion, but merely hope that you will keep it as a reminder that I am, and always will be, most sincerely yours

- Sherlock Holmes

Despite himself, John found his eyes welling with tears as he read this confession. Sherlock hadn't used the word love, but John was overcome with the understanding that Sherlock loved him more deeply than anyone had ever loved him before. Sherlock was trying very hard to say, and not to say, that John meant the world to him, that it was John or no one for him, and that he longed for John to return that love even though he respected John's claims about his sexuality.

Numb with shock, John watched as his own fingers slowly flipped open the little box and a plain gold band glinted in the firelight. Sherlock was pledging himself to John without any hope of reciprocity. John's lip twitched awkwardly and a large tear spilled over into the velvet interior of the little box. In that moment his entire world shifted.

He looked back up at Sherlock and saw him in a completely new light. Although John _wasn't_ normally attracted to men, he discovered that Sherlock's attraction and love for him, coupled with the companionship they already shared, actually made him… _quite attractive_. Sherlock wasn't ugly, after all, and he was certainly fit. John already felt affection for him, though he'd never before thought of him in romantic terms; suddenly that was no longer hard to imagine. Here was his best and dearest friend, intensely, desperately in love with him, and offering him the life of his dreams though he hadn't known what he really wanted until now. All this time he'd been assuming the instant rapport they'd felt could go no further than friendship, that their life together had to be temporary, but now he could stay here forever if he wanted, they would continue solving cases and doing everything else together just as they had been, and there was no need for John to keep searching for the next step in life. _He_ was right here. They had been soul-mates from the very first day, though John had refused to see it. It now seemed clear that Sherlock_would certainly_ have continued to be the most important person on the planet to him, even if John had eventually managed to marry someone else.

While John gaped at him with wet eyes, Sherlock abruptly turned away and went over to stare out the window with his back to John. John swallowed and took a deep breath, then stood up and shuffled hesitantly towards Sherlock. It took a long time to work up the nerve to reach out and touch Sherlock's arm, but once he had gone that far it felt like a magnetic field activated between them, and John found his arms wrapped possessively around Sherlock's middle and his damp face resting against Sherlock's back.

John wasn't sure how long they stood like this before Sherlock finally mustered the resolve to turn round and meet John's eye. This wasn't the first time they'd stared this intently at each-other, but for the first time neither of them was striving against the natural magnetism that had been drawing them together from the moment they'd met. As their noses touched John found it surprisingly easy to forget about Sherlock being another _man_, and simply think of him as the person he wanted to be closest to.

"Happy Christmas" he whispered into Sherlock's lips, brushing his own against them experimentally. _This was actually not bad at all._

At last, Sherlock completely forgot himself and wrapped John tightly in his arms, leaning into the kiss and pressing as close as he could manage. _Oh yes, this I can get used to_, John thought as he went weak in the knees.

When the world finally faded back into existence and they were looking at each-other once more, John held held up the ring, which he'd had in his hand this whole time. Sherlock was suddenly embarrassed again by all this sentiment, and tried to avoid John's expectant gaze, but John wasn't going to let him get away with it, and eventually Sherlock took the ring and dutifully slid it onto John's finger. John stole another brief kiss before Sherlock fled to the kitchen and busied himself fixing tea.

John found himself chuckling with fond amusement at Sherlock's awkwardness at handling sentiment, and settled back into his arm-chair, content to give Sherlock his space for the moment. Their relationship was bound to be fraught with issues, but he somehow felt confident that if they'd managed to live with each-other this long, there was no reason they couldn't make it work for the rest of their days. John stared at his hand. Intellectually, it was absurd that he should find himself engaged to someone he'd never even called his… _boyfriend_ before now, but although tonight hardly seemed real, on an emotional level this actually felt like a natural progression of their relationship. "So I guess they were right, we really have been a couple all this time." He mused to himself, pushing the messy task of explaining this to Beth out of his mind for tonight, though like everyone else she might not be all that surprised.

"Obviously." Sherlock's rich voice sounded close behind him as he returned and handed John a cup of tea. John smiled and shook his head in disbelief of this whole evening.

Although Sherlock had clearly had as much sentimental mush as he could handle for the moment, instead of taking his seat opposite John, he folded himself up on the floor by John's feet and leaned back against his chair. It felt good just to have him close by.

They spent the rest of the evening just sitting by the fire, reminiscing about the day they'd met, how their adventures had brought them together, and how stupid they'd both been in hindsight. When John finally felt he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer he prodded Sherlock with his foot.

"So, erm… we don't need…" He really didn't know how to ask Sherlock about sharing a room now that they were 'together'. He didn't feel ready for sex just yet, and didn't imagine Sherlock was either (he suspected that may have been Sherlock's first kiss), but despite needing time to ease into physical intimacy, John really didn't want to go up to his room alone tonight either.

"Two bedrooms? No." Sherlock read his mind. "But you will need your own sock drawer." He said seriously, with the barest hint of a smirk.

John laughed aloud. "I won't touch your sock index, I promise."

Sherlock's low chuckle rumbled beneath John's as they stretched their now rather stiff limbs and wandered in the direction of Sherlock's, or rather, _their_ bed.


End file.
